Truckers by Terry Pratchett Page B

taking obvious action in a crisis.
    The door drifted open, very slowly. There was a figure there. It looked like a human in a blue suit. Masklin wasn’t much of a judge of human expressions, but the man didn’t look very happy. In one hand he held a metal tube. Light shone out of one end. His terrible flashlight , Masklin thought.
    The figure came closer, in that slow-motion, sleepwalking way that humans had. Masklin peered around the paper, fascinated despite himself. He looked up into a round, red face, felt the breath, saw the peaked hat.
    He’d learned that humans in the Store had their names on little badges, because—he’d been told—they were so stupid they wouldn’t remember them otherwise. This man had his name on his hat. Masklin squinted and made out the shape of the letters: S . . . E . . . C . . . . U . . . R . . . I . . . T . . . Y. He had a white mustache.
    The man straightened up and started to walk around the room. They’re not stupid, Masklin told himself. He’s bright enough to know there shouldn’t be a light on, and he wants to find out why. He’s bound to see the others if he just looks in the right place. Even a human could see them.
    He gripped his spear. The eyes, he thought, I’d have to go for the eyes. . . .
    Security drifted dreamily around the room, examining cupboards and looking in corners. Then he headed back toward the door.
    Masklin dared to breathe, and at that moment, Gurder’s hysterical voice came from somewhere below him.
    â€œIt is Prices Slashed! Oh, Bargains Galore, save us! We’re all mmphmmphmmph—”
    Security stopped. He turned back, a look of puzzlement spreading across his face as slowly as treacle.
    Masklin shrank farther back into the shadows. This is it, then, he thought. If I can get a good run at him . . .
    Something outside the door started to roar. It was almost a truck noise. It didn’t seem to worry the man, who just pulled the door open and looked out.
    There was a human woman in the passage. She looked quite elderly, as far as Masklin was any judge, with a pink apron with flowers on it and carpet slippers on her feet. She held a duster in one hand, and with the other she was . . .
    Well, it looked as though she was holding back a sort of roaring thing, like a bag on wheels. It kept rushing forward across the carpet, but she kept one hand on its stick and kept pulling it back.
    While Masklin watched, she gave the thing a kick. The roaring died away as Security started to talk to her. To Masklin the conversation sounded like a couple of foghorns having a fight.
    Masklin ran to the edge of the desk and half climbed, half fell down the chain of clips. The other two were waiting in the shadow of the desk. Gurder’s eyes were rolling; Grimma had one hand clamped firmly over his mouth.
    â€œLet’s get out of here while he’s not looking!” said Masklin.
    â€œHow?” said Grimma. “There’s only the doorway.”
    â€œMmphmmph.”
    â€œWell, let’s at least get somewhere better than this.” Masklin stared around across the rolling acres of dark carpet. “There’s a cupboard thing over there,” he said.
    â€œMmphmmph!”
    â€œWhat are we going to do with him?”
    â€œLook,” said Masklin to Gurder’s frightened face, “you’re not going to go on about doom, doom again, are you? Otherwise we’ll have to gag you. Sorry.”
    â€œMmph.”
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œMmph.”
    â€œOkay, you can take your hand away.”
    â€œIt was Bargains Galore!” hissed Gurder excitedly.
    Grimma looked up at Masklin. “Shall I shut him up again?” she said.
    â€œHe can say what he likes as long as he keeps quiet,” said Masklin. “It probably makes him feel better. He’s had a bit of a shock.”
    â€œBargains Galore came to protect us! With her great roaring Soul Sucker . . .”